


Ineffable Holidays

by chaos_ineffable



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: 31 Days of Ineffables Advent Calendar Challenge (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Snake Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:27:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 8,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21868243
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chaos_ineffable/pseuds/chaos_ineffable
Summary: Just a bunch of ficlets about the husbands being in love and enjoying the holidays.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Kudos: 9





	1. Mistletoe

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts are from drawlight's 31 Days of Ineffables. I've really enjoyed writing these and I hope you guys enjoy reading them!

“Crowley, darling, what are you doing?” Aziraphale had been looking forward to enjoying a relaxing night in with a cup of hot cocoa and a good book. At least he was, before his husband stormed in and started wandering the shop, quietly muttering to himself and thumping into bookshelves absentmindedly. 

Normally, Aziraphale would have ignored the demon and continued with his quiet evening but when a clatter and a shout come from the back, he cannot ignore his mischievous spouse any longer. He sets his book aside with a sigh and meanders in the general direction of the scream. “Crowley?”

“I’m fine, angel! Go back to your book!” There is a slightly panicked tilt to Crowley’s exclamation and, well, Aziraphale can’t exactly relax after hearing that, can he?

He rounds a bookshelf and stops. Crowley is splayed on the floor, sprouts of green leaves with small, white berries scattered around him. He looks up at Aziraphale abashedly, his yellow eyes uncovered and clearly embarrassed. 

Aziraphale looks down at him with one eyebrow raised, arms crossed over his chest, and a foot tapping the ground. “What trouble are you causing now, Crowley?”

The demon shoots to his feet with a series of splutters that Aziraphale thinks are supposed to be words. After a moment, Crowley manages, “I’m not causing any trouble, angel. When do I ever cause trouble?”

Aziraphale stares at him. “Right. So you’re not hanging mistletoe in every secluded corner of my shop so customers will kiss and do Someone-knows-what-else.” He takes a step toward Crowley, glancing up to see a mistletoe sprout already hanging above them. That makes his job easier. “After all, as a retired demon, you no longer enjoy causing low-level chaos and being a general nuisance.”

Crowley swallows and takes a step back as Aziraphale continues to close in, stumbling against the bookshelf behind him. “Ngk.” He blushes at the sound and clears his throat, tries again, “Well, I didn’t say that. Just that I’m not being a nuisance _now_.”

“I wouldn’t say that, dear. You did disrupt my quiet evening and you made a mess of the bookshop.” He takes a final step, stopping close enough to press his ample belly against Crowley’s bony abdomen. “I think you ought to apologize for that, don’t you?”

Crowley licks his lips and absentmindedly places his hands on Aziraphale’s waist, eyes turning fully yellow and flicking between Aziraphale’s blue ones and his plump lips. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” he breathes.

Aziraphale nods and leans forward, cupping a sharp cheek with one hand and bracing himself against the bookshelf with the other. “Good.”

He leans forward the rest of the way and kisses Crowley. He takes his time, enjoying the feeling of Crowley fully relaxing into him. He flicks his tongue against the demon’s lips, not seeking to deepen the kiss but simply to tease. Crowley whines against his lips and clutches his hips.

Aziraphale smiles and pulls away, backing out of his husband’s greedy reach. “Wonderful. Apology accepted. Now do clean up this mess. And if you’re going to hang mistletoe in the shop, put it somewhere decent, like the erotica section.”

He returns to his book and cocoa, settles back into his comfortable chair and waits. After a few minutes of hurried rustling, Crowley speed walks around the corner, dumps his armful of mistletoe on a table, and launches himself into Aziraphale’s lap. 

Aziraphale catches him with a fond laugh. They kiss hungrily, now, hands dipping under clothing, exploring tongues tangling. Eventually, they calm down. Crowley settles in Aziraphale’s warm lap like an oversized cat and Aziraphale continues reading, running his fingers through Crowley’s soft hair.

His quiet evening didn’t go as he expected but Aziraphale wouldn’t have it any other way.


	2. Snow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's a little cold for a picnic.

“Crowley, isn’t it a little cold for a picnic?” Aziraphale asks, looking out the Bentley’s window at the snow-covered hills as they speed by. He plucks at the leather seat below him with one hand, even though Crowley is actually going the speed limit and there is no one on the road to near-miss. It is an old habit grown from years of anxiously riding with Crowley’s insane driving that Aziraphale has not yet managed to break. He squeezes Crowley’s fingers in his other hand, stroking his thumb over his husband’s knuckles.

“Who said we’re picnicking?” Crowley responds, his gaze steady on the road, his fingers lax on the steering wheel, his hand soft in Aziraphale’s.A small, content smile is on his face, has been since they left London on this little expedition.

“Then what are we doing out here in the middle of nowhere? And why did you bring a picnic basket?” 

Crowley smirks and twists their wrists until the back of Aziraphale’s hand exposed, then he gently tugs on Aziraphale’s hand, pressing his lips against the angel’s knuckles before resettling their hands in Aziraphale’s lap. “Patience is a virtue, angel. You’ll see what I have planned when we get there.”

Aziraphale huffs but doesn’t push. He knows Crowley won’t give up any information until he’s good and ready. He stops picking at the seat and rests that hand over Crowley’s wrist, settling his fingers over the pulse there, a rhythmic reminder that they both had survived the nightmares of the Notpocalypse.

They arrive at Crowley’s secret destination nearly an hour later. Aziraphale gasps when he sees it. “Oh, my dear, it’s beautiful.”

Crowley stops at the side of the road and looks over the snowy cliff. The stars are glimmering above them and the ocean sparkles below them. The snow reflects it all, giving the whole area a shimmering halo. “Hoped you would like it.” He kisses Aziraphale’s hand one more time, nuzzling his knuckles for a moment, looking at Aziraphale with enough adoration to freeze the angel’s breath in his lungs, before he pulls away and climbs out of the car. “Pick out a spot, will you? I’ll get the basket.”

It takes Aziraphale a moment to recover from Crowley’s adoration. Despite knowing Crowley loves him, Aziraphale has yet to get used to seeing it so openly. He adjusts his waistcoat and clambers from the car, wandering through the snow to find the spot with the best view. Crowley follows him, the picnic basket slung over one arm. 

“Here should do, I would think,” Aziraphale stops at a spot several meters from the side of the cliff, where the lights from the sky and the sea appear brightest. “Now, darling, do tell me what we are doing here.”

Crowley grins and opens the basket, revealing a whole lot of nothing. “Sorry about misleading you, sweetheart. Didn’t want to risk ruining the surprise.” He miracles the basket back into the Bentley and wraps an arm around Aziraphale’s waist. “I was thinking it’s been a while since we had the chance to spread our wings.”

Aziraphale turns to him with a gasp. “You mean…”

Crowley nods. “The sea breeze is great for stretching out the tertiaries.”

Aziraphale grins. “My darling demon, you really are wonderful.”

He presses a quick kiss to Crowley’s cheek then spreads his wings, shaking out the ethereal dust they had gathered over the years, and takes off. Crowley watches him for a moment, that small, content smile on his face. Then he stretches his own wings and follows his angel into the sky.


	3. Nutcracker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nutcrackers are very good at keeping secrets.

“Angel, what in the fuck is that?” Crowley asks, pointing at the giant nutcracker that has taken up residence against one of Aziraphale’s bookshelves. It is at least four feet tall and dressed in a flamboyant red uniform with black lining the sleeves and gold buttons sparkling on the wrists and abdomen. The wooden mouth is agape, the opening large enough for Crowley to shove his fist into it with little trouble. He shudders at the thought.

Aziraphale glances where he’s pointing and his cheeks and chest puff up with pride. “It’s a nutcracker! Quite a fancy one, too. I saw him at that little antique shop by the sushi place down the street. You know the one. It sells some of the loveliest nigiri rolls. We should really stop by there some time soon. It has been quite a while since we last had sushi.” He begins to ramble about other lunch spots he has been craving, his expression turning wistful.

Crowley snaps his fingers, getting Aziraphale’s attention, “Stay on topic, angel! The nutcracker? What the fuck?”

The smallest of pouts, a barely jutted lower lip and a hardly noticeable squish of the eyebrows, forms on Aziraphale’s face. “You don’t like him.”

Crowley stares at the nutcracker. The nutcracker stares back. Its big, blue painted on eyes seeing straight into Crowley’s infernal soul. The mouth is still open, the shock of black fur making up the beard and mustache failing to cover the disturbingly white teeth framing the wide hole. “Ngk.”

“Oh, I knew I shouldn’t have purchased him. He just looked so lovely in that little uniform. I couldn’t help myself. Is he too much? Perhaps I should return him.” Aziraphale worries, his fingers wringing together. 

Crowley steps up to the nutcracker, grabs a fistful of soft, black fur and pushes the mouth shut. It doesn’t close all the way, just enough to stay closed when Crowley lets go. Instantly, the oversized toy looks more welcoming and less like a demon’s nightmare. “Nah, it’s fine. Just keep its mouth shut from now on, yeah?”

Aziraphale looks oddly disappointed. “Of course.” He pauses and adjusts his impeccable jacket and perfectly tied bowtie. Then he schools his expression into something that looks far too carefree. “You do like him, yes?”

Crowley squints at him. Everything the angel has done throughout the course of this conversation has been weird. And now he’s acting like Crowley himself. “What are you planning, angel?”

Aziraphale panics briefly, just long enough for Crowley to confirm his suspicions, before he has himself back under control. “Planning? I’m not planning anything, Crowley. Honestly, where did you get such an idea?”

Crowley smirks. He’ll let Aziraphale keep his secrets for now. “Just messing around, angel. How do you feel about some alcohol?”

The angel jumps on the offer to change the subject. They settle in to get royally drunk and Crowley lets the nutcracker slip from his mind. Not for long, though. He will figure out what’s going on with that thing, whether Aziraphale tells him or not.

\---

Six days later and Crowley is no closer to learning the nutcracker’s secret then he was on that first day. 

Every day, Crowley comes to the bookshop. Every day, the nutcracker is somewhere new, its bloody mouth wide open. Today, it’s standing proudly beside Aziraphale as he sits at his desk and takes inventory. 

Crowley glares at it. He can feel it taunting him, standing there with it’s secrets. “Hey, angel.”

Aziraphale glances at him, looking very pleased with himself. “Oh, hello, dear.”

That pleased look is never a good sign for Crowley. It usually means he’s about to be wrangled into doing something he’d prefer not to. And all Aziraphale will have to do is ask.

“Did you get lonely?” He gestures at the nutcracker, its shoulder nearly touching Aziraphale’s elbow every time the angel reaches to dip his pen.

“Hmm? No, no. Just trying out some spots to see where he fits best.” Aziraphale is using _that_ tone of voice, the one Crowley has never been able to say no to, not in six millennia, not even for the apocalypse. “I’m thinking this might be the best spot, right where everyone can see how lovely he is. Gives the shop a little holiday charm, don’t you think?”

Crowley doesn’t respond. He’s waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Although, I have noticed something odd about him. Something that I was hoping you might be able to help me with.”

There it is. Crowley leans against the desk, an image of nonchalance. “And what’s that, angel?”

“His mouth just won’t stay closed. I’ve tried everything I can think of but even the slightest bump is enough to knock his jaw loose. I am beginning to wonder if there’s something stuck inside and keeping the mechanism from locking.”

Crowley grimaces. “Why not just move it somewhere out of the way? There are plenty of places where people will still see it but not touch it, especially with the way you run your bookshop.”

Aziraphale pouts at him and Crowley is done for. “But my dear, he looks so good right here. I would hate to move him again. Won’t you just reach in and take a quick look?”

Crowley sighs. He pinches the bridge of his nose, pushing his sunglasses out of the way. What will it do? It’s just a nutcracker. “Alright, fine. But you owe me lunch.”

“Of course, anywhere you like.” And there’s the happy smile that Crowley would die for.

Crowley grumbles and pushes up a sleeve, “Lucky you’re cute,” then he plunges his hand into the nutcracker’s mouth. He can only fit his fingers in up to the second knuckle before he’s stopped by smooth wood. He begins to scrabble for whatever the problem is. He tries not to think about what would become of his fingers were the carefully crafted jaws to snap shut. 

He finds the problem, a small circle of metal, and swiftly pulls his fingers out of the wooden death trap. “There you go,” he says, holding the ring out for Aziraphale to take, not bothering to look at it, “Try to keep better track of your jewelry next time.”

Aziraphale makes a fondly disbelieving sound beside him and plucks the ring from his long fingers. He doesn’t say anything and Crowley doesn’t think anything of it. The angel is probably busy figuring out which ring got trapped in the nutcracker’s maw.

“Now, lunch! I was thinking that Mediterranean place we saw last week. Or I could go for some Chinese. What do you-”

“Crowley,” Aziraphale cuts him off, “Darling, look at me, please.”

Crowley does and freezes. 

Aziraphale is down on one knee, a very familiar gold, winged ring held in his plump fingers. “Crowley, my dear, my darling, love of my life. You are so incredibly dense sometimes. To think it took you a full week to figure this out. But I wouldn’t want you any other way. I have loved you for six thousand years and I will love you for six thousand more if you will let me. Dearest, will you marry me?”

For some time, Crowley doesn’t respond. He stares at the ring, so strange looking anywhere but on Aziraphale’s finger. He tears his gaze from the small trinket and looks at Aziraphale. The angel’s face is riddled with uncertainty. A small, nervous smile is slouching into a frown and his eyes are full of self-consciousness.

And Crowley realizes. Aziraphale truly doesn’t know that there is only one answer Crowley could possibly give. As if there is a universe where Crowley could live without Aziraphale at his side. As if there is a universe where he would want to.

He flings himself at Aziraphale, before unshed tears can stain his angel’s cheeks, wraps his arms around Aziraphale’s broad shoulders, and coos the only answer he could ever give into Aziraphale’s neck, “Yes. Yes, sweetheart. Of course, I will marry you.”

Hours later finds them cocooned around each other on the couch, admiring the gold wings glinting on Crowley’s thin finger. 

They have the rest of time to figure out each other’s secrets, now. The rest of time to love each other unconditionally. But there is one question Crowley feels needs to be answered sooner than later.

“Angel, why a nutcracker?”

Aziraphale hums into his shoulder, where he has been content to simply breathe in the scent of Crowley for nearly an hour now. “Sorry?”

Crowley pushes away from his fiancé, just far enough to see his face, and explains, “Why did you put the ring in a nutcracker?”

A light blush spreads across Aziraphale’s cheeks and he tightens his hold on Crowley’s waist, pulling the demon back against him. He buries his face in Crowley’s shoulder and mumbles something against the fabric. 

Crowley is not satisfied with this answer. He twines his fingers into Aziraphale’s curls and asks softly, “Did you drop the ring in the nutcracker and weren’t able to get it out again?” 

Aziraphale groans at the accuracy of his guess and burrows deeper into the protection of Crowley’s collarbone. The demon laughs and runs soothing hands through Aziraphale’s pale locks, despite his amused grin at the angel’s embarrassment. 

“How lucky I am to have caught you, my clumsy angel.”

He can feel Aziraphale’s smile through his shirt, and although the angel doesn’t say anything, he knows that Aziraphale feels the same. 

They love each other, after all. And they will for a very, very long time.


	4. Cranberry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wine makes parties bearable. Cranberry juice, on the other hand, is safe for children.

“Angel, this is ridiculous,” Crowley whines over the Bentley, one hand on the door, the other splayed on top of the car. “We barely know these people. We don’t have to go to a dumb party for them.”

“Crowley, I am surprised at you!” Aziraphale gasps, piling a couple of presents in the back seat. After a moment of thought, he pulls a seat belt over them. Better safe than sorry when Crowley’s driving. “ _Those people_ are Newton and Anathema, who we stopped the apocalypse with, have gone to lunch with more than a few times and were kind enough to let us stay at their cottage when we spent that weekend in Tadfield while checking on Adam. They are our friends and we _are_ going to this party. Now stop complaining and help me with the food.”

Crowley rolls his eyes but follows Aziraphale into the bookshop, where a platter of covered pastries from assorted shops in the area waits to be carried out. “Fine. I’ll go along, but only because I love you. I am against all this partying nonsense. Just want that put on the record.” He grabs the platter and saunters back out to the Bentley, setting it beside the presents with a sneer.

Aziraphale is standing beside him when he straightens, a bottle of something held in one hand. “Thank you, my dear. I will be sure to remember that.” He smiles and leans forward, lips puckered, eyes closed, and eyebrows raised expectantly. 

Crowley huffs a laugh and meets him halfway for a soft peck. He pulls back and waits with a knowing smirk.

Aziraphale frowns and doesn’t move, his eyes still closed. Crowley’s smile grows wider. 

Aziraphale’s eyebrows draw together and his frown deepens. “Come now, dear. That was hardly a kiss.”

“You might have to show me what a proper kiss looks like, then, sweetheart.”

Aziraphale huffs but doesn’t put up much of a fight, mumbling, “Wily old serpent,” while pulling Crowley down into a proper kiss. He pulls back after a moment, patting Crowley’s lapels contentedly his free hand. “Was that a good demonstration, my dear?”

Crowley smacks his lips dramatically and tilts his head, looking into the distance thoughtfully. “I’m not sure. You might have to show me again, give me a really in-depth example.”

“Perhaps later, darling.” Aziraphale smiles, a knowing twinkle in his eye, “Now be a dear and put this in with the rest.”

Crowley gives the bottle a quick look over and grimaces. “Angel, is this cranberry juice? What happened to the wine? I won’t survive this without wine, Aziraphale.”

“There will be children there, Crowley. Get in the car,” Aziraphale grumbles, attempting to sound haughty but only managing to sound awfully fond.

Crowley places the juice beside the pastries and clambers into the driver’s seat, the engine starting up as soon as he’s situated. He holds his hand out, palm up, and waits for Aziraphale to get comfortable. The angel tangles their fingers together and subtly clutches the door handle.

Crowley smiles at him, taking in his soft curves and white curls. Aziraphale catches him staring. “What is it, my dear?”

“Nothing, angel,” Crowley says, lifting their hands to press a kiss against the back of Aziraphale’s. “Love you, sweetheart.”

Aziraphale practically glows. “I love you too, darling.”


	5. Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aziraphale has always decorated his tree with candles. After the failed Apocalypse, this might change.

Aziraphale lights the final candle and places it on the tree, using a small miracle to keep it in place. “There. Now for the star.” He turns to grab the last ornament only to find it missing. He frowns, huffs, puts his hands on his hips, and glares at the spot he definitely remembers putting the star when he started decorating. “Where did that blasted thing get to? I could have sworn…” He scrounges through the rest of the decoration boxes before bending down to search under the furniture, muttering all the while.

Just as he gets to his knees, the doors slam open. “Angel! You in?”

He sighs. He should have known. “Crowley! What did you do with my star?”

He can hear Crowley wandering through the front of the shop, no doubt procrastinating having to accept his consequences. “Star? What star?” Crowley steps into the backroom and leans against the door. Aziraphale can hear him tapping at his mobile, before he pockets it and looks to the angel for an explanation.

“You know exactly what star! The topper for my tree, you wily creature! What have you done with it?” Aziraphale calls, pushing himself back to his feet. He brushes off his knees and turns to the door, fully prepared to give Crowley a piece of his mind.

That intent disappears as soon as he sees Crowley’s face. The demon looks like he’s seen a ghost, his eyes wide and horrified. “Oh, my darling, what’s the matter?”

Crowley blinks a couple of times, his eyes shining with what Aziraphale hopes aren’t tears, and points at the tree. “That’s a lot of candles, angel.”

Aziraphale turns back to the tree, looks at the candles he has carefully, and more than a little miraculously, balanced on each branch. Their flames flicker marvelously amongst the pine needles, casting shadows over the room. He remembers, suddenly, a night after everything was supposed to end, when a demon curled in his arms and cried because a fire killed his best friend. 

He turns back to Crowley. The poor dear is trembling now, his arms folded over his chest, fingers clenched in his stylish jacket. He sniffles quietly and avoids looking at Aziraphale but the tears staining his cheeks are unmistakable. “Oh. Oh, dear.” 

The candles go out with a sharp look and are replaced by strings of white Christmas lights and golden garlands. Aziraphale bustles to Crowley’s side and gently leads him to the couch. “I’m terribly sorry, my love. I wasn’t thinking. Sit with me?” He settles on the couch, leaning against an arm rest and ensuring there is enough room for Crowley to relax comfortably against him. He barely manages to open his arms invitingly when Crowley lunges into his lap.

Aziraphale wraps his arms around his husband and nuzzles his hair, rubbing his back soothingly. Crowley buries his face in Aziraphale’s neck and shakes with his tears.

“Oh, my darling. My dearest, you’re alright. It’s okay, my love. I will never leave you again, I promise,” Aziraphale whispers, “The candles are gone. There’s nothing to worry about. It’s okay.”

Crowley trembles against him for several minutes, absorbing Aziraphale’s comforting words and touches. Eventually, his tears dry and his trembling calms to barely noticeable shivers. He just lies against Aziraphale for a few more minutes, breathing in his scent and reminding himself that Aziraphale didn’t burn with the bookshop.

He pulls away from Aziraphale enough to sit up properly and wipes his face. “Sorry about that, angel. Wasn’t expecting the candles. You can put them back now. I’ll be okay.”

Aziraphale frowns. “Absolutely not. I will not decorate my shop with anything that causes you such distress. It is out of the question.”

“Angel, don’t be like that,” Crowley sighs, rolling his eyes, “I know you love your candles.”

“Crowley, my dear, I do love my candles,” Aziraphale grabs Crowley’s waist and pulls him back down, hugging the demon to his chest, “But I love you more. I can live without my candles but I cannot live with you being unable to step into the bookshop without falling into a panic.” He presses a kiss to Crowley’s hair and soothes a hand down his spine, “Now, sit here and relax. I have no intention of letting you do anything for the rest of the day.”

For a moment, it seems as if Crowley will argue. He considers Aziraphale’s words, considers the mildly evil things he had planned today, then sprawls over Aziraphale’s lap with a satisfied hum. “I guess I could do with a night in.”

Aziraphale chuckles and tightens his hold on Crowley, looking over at the newly decorated tree. The golden garland glimmers in the shine of the Christmas lights, and it looks prettier than the candles ever did.


	6. Sleigh Bells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A hellhorse, a demon, and an angel meet in a living room.

The horse is big, black, and pissed off. Her eyes glow with the fires of Hell, her mane a blazing mess of burning brimstone and the gunk that covers every infernal surface Downstairs. She snorts at Crowley, who is glaring at her from across the room. The beast had appeared in his living room suddenly and very rudely, rearing and bucking and screaming. She knocked over several uselessly expensive chairs and a few books that he had never read before she realized she was no longer in Hell and calmed down enough to stop causing mindless destruction.

She glares back at him and snorts again, pawing at the ground with one charcoal hoof, smearing a black stain into the white carpet. Crowley grimaces but doesn’t move towards the beast. He doesn’t dare. The last time he interacted with her, he had suffered a bruised butt, singed fingers, and broken dignity. 

“What do you want then? I have places to be, people to tempt, and I am not leaving you here alone.” He growls, glaring at the creature harder, as if that will make her respond.

The horse ignores his glare and paws at the carpet again. She tosses her head, her mane whipping along the ceiling. The ceiling simmers. She looks at him expectantly, like he’s supposed to know what to do in this situation.

“Fine, keep your secrets. I’m calling Aziraphale.” The horse knickers and Crowley has the feeling she just called him something very rude. He hisses at her and points a finger for effect, “Don’t touch anything, or I’ll turn you into a hellhound.”

He saunters from the room, the horse whinnying in offense behind him. He tries not to rush dialing Aziraphale’s number. He’s not panicking, after all. He’s just… Who is he kidding? Of course, he’s panicking. A bloody hellhorse just dropped into his living room! Who wouldn’t panic?

“I’m afraid we are very closed. You will have to call back another time.”

Crowley suddenly realizes this might not be the best idea. Before his brain can complete that thought, he hears himself say in a voice that is far to calm for the situation, “It’s me. We have a problem. My place, soon as you can.” Then he hangs up and continues to panic.

Before Crowley has a chance to check back in with the horse, Aziraphale is there. He bangs on the door three times before barging in. “Crowley, what’s the matter? Did Hell find us out?” His gasp is audible, even in the other room.

Crowley curses and skitters into the room, his arms up, ready to explain. 

“Oh, my dear. Is this what you called about?” The angel asks, gesturing at the flaming horse. She whickers and claps her lips together, swishing her tail a few times, further burning carpet and a side of Crowley’s prized couch. “I don’t see what the problem is. She’s beautiful, isn’t she? Is she yours?” He says this with utter respect and awe in his voice, taking a couple of slow steps towards the beast and reaching a hand out for her to smell.

Crowley watches all of this flabbergasted. “What the problem is? Angel, the problem is that there is a bloody hellhorse in my flat! This may surprise you, but this is not a normal occurrence! This isn’t the first time Hell has sent her for me. She’s my tormenter, and she loves it.” 

Aziraphale rolls his eyes and pets the horse’s nose, ignoring the way it leaves his hands blackened. Crowley surges forward and knocks his hand away, planting himself between the angel and the fiery horse. “Stop petting the horse! You’re going to get yourself killed.”

“Oh, come now. She’s a sweetheart. She wouldn’t hurt a fly. Does she have a name?” To prove Aziraphale’s point, the horse nips at Crowley, tugging at his jacket and moving him a good few inches away from Aziraphale.

Crowley yelps and tears himself free. “Angel, this is a hellhorse. They don’t come with names. I’m pretty sure her title is Justice of the Damned or something like that.” He slaps Aziraphale’s hand away from the horse’s snout with a hiss, “I don’t know if you noticed, angel, but there’s several layers of hellfire attached to her. So don’t touch the horse.”

Aziraphale pouts but actually listens to reason for once, folding his hands over his stomach to keep from petting the horse’s soot-covered snout. “Fine. But she needs a bath. The poor dear is filthy.”

Crowley grumbles something filthy under his breath and earns a glare from Aziraphale for his trouble. “I’m not washing the damn horse. It’s going back to Hell, where it belongs.”

The horse whinnies pitifully and bumps Crowley with her nose, nipping at his jacket again.

“She missed you, Crowley,” Aziraphale coos before straightening his shoulders and frowning at the demon, “And if you send her away, you will not be permitted in my bed for at least a month.”

Crowley gapes at him. “A month? But, angel-”

“That’s final, Crowley. Now get the poor creature cleaned up, won’t you.” Leaving no room for argument, he meanders to the clean side of the couch and plops himself down, wiggling into a comfortable position and miracling a book into his lap. “Also, I’ve just decided. We should call her Justice. I don’t want to dishonor her hard work in Hell but Justice of the Damned is quite a mouthful. Now, toodaloo.”

Crowley stares at him, then at the horse, then back at Aziraphale before he gives up with an exasperated sigh. “Alright, fine. Fine. Come on, you dusty mongrel.” He taps the horse’s shoulder with two fingers and they both vanish.

\---

It takes two full days to wash all the gunk and soot from Justice’s coat. When Crowley returns to his flat, with no horse in tow, he finds Aziraphale exactly where he left him. Although, he’s reading a different book.

“Alright, angel. She’s all cleaned up. Are you happy?”

Aziraphale looks up at him with a slightly wrinkled brow. “Where is she?” He frowns. “Did you take her back to Hell?”

“Of course not! She’s outside. I wasn’t about to bring her back into my flat.” Crowley opens the door and gestures Aziraphale out.

Aziraphale can’t hold in his gasp when he sees Justice. Her obsidian coat shines in the weak winter sunlight, traces of soot drifting onto the pavement below her. Her mane and tail are a dark grey and lie flat against her, all traces of hellfire gone. She paws at the pavement, causing the harness of silver bells wrapped around her chest and shoulders to shake. Despite the light coating of soot on the bells, they glimmer against her dark fur like stars.

“There’s not much I can do about the soot. She’s literally made from it so can’t exactly wash it away. You should be able to touch her now, if you want.” Crowley mumbles, looking at Aziraphale anxiously. He knows the angel can be a perfectionist when he wants to be and just the thought of not being allowed to wrap around Aziraphale’s warmth while at night is giving him hives.

“Oh, dearest, she’s beautiful. You did a wonderful job.” He steps up to Justice’s head and pats her cheek, stroking her nose with his other hand. “You are beautiful, aren’t you? What a lovely girl.”

Justice bumps her nose against his cheek and huffs into his ear. The bells ring, Aziraphale laughs, and Crowley remembers why he fell in love in the first place.


	7. Silent Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cocoa always leads to happiness.

Aziraphale blinks at the steaming cup of cocoa by his hand. He doesn’t remember getting cocoa before he sat down to read. He places his bookmark between the pages and sets his book aside, reaching out to cup the mug with a satisfied hum. He sips from it, closing his eyes and enjoying the wonderful taste of semi-sweet chocolate, cream, and a touch of raspberries.

He places the cup back in its place and leans back in his chair, looking around the bookshop for his darling husband. He finds no sign of Crowley anywhere. His brow wrinkles and he stands with a soft groan, his joints aching after sitting in the same position for hours. He wanders the bookshop but still finds no sign that Crowley has been there since Aziraphale started reading.

He glances out one of the windows as he passes; the view is perfectly clear despite the window’s grimy appearance. The sky is dark and the streets are nearly empty, only a few brave souls willing to venture into the night chill. Aziraphale looks at the nearest clock and he bustles towards the stairs. He knows exactly where to find Crowley.

His bedroom is much the same way he left it this morning, the bedsheets a tousled pile and Crowley a snuggly lump underneath the mess. He sighs fondly and snaps his fingers, his primly kept clothing folding themselves into his dresser and a soft pair of tartan pajamas smoothing over his form. He climbs onto the bed, moving slowly to not disrupt Crowley’s slumber. 

Carefully, he navigates his way through his husband’s nest of blankets until he finds the center, where Crowley is curled into a ball, as if he forgot he’s not currently a snake.

Aziraphale shimmies into the nest, wrapping his arms around the demon’s waist and pulling him onto Aziraphale’s chest. Crowley grumbles and latches onto the new source of heat, burying his face in Aziraphale’s shoulder and tucking his fingers under Aziraphale’s back in a loose hug. 

Aziraphale soothes a hand through his hair, shushing him back into sleep. He pulls the sheets tighter around them and wraps his arms around Crowley’s back, relaxing into the soft comfort of it all.

He had never been very good at sleep. Getting there was nearly impossible, his brain too loud and his body too tense to fall asleep easily. Once he did fall asleep, he rarely stayed asleep for longer than two or three hours. However, tonight, tucked in warm, soft sheets with his husband in his arms, his sleep is deep, restful, and all through the night.


	8. Choir

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Every double-date needs at least one awkward question; Anathema is the lucky asker.

Crowley sits across from Anathema with a sly grin. “Hey, Book Girl. What’s new?”

Anathema smiles and fixes her glasses, leaning forward to put her elbows on the table. “Jasmine Cottage is haunted. What’s new with you?”

Crowley raises an eyebrow. “Haunted? Poltergeist or lost soul? Might be able to help with a lost soul.”

Anathema shrugs, bumping her elbow against Newt’s, who is sitting nervously next to her. “Don’t know. Newt’s doing some research into it. Why only a lost soul and not the poltergeist?”

Crowley adjusts his own glasses, slipping them down far enough for Anathema to see his wink. “Demon thing, hard to explain.”

“Oh, please,” Aziraphale interrupts, knocking his knee against Crowley’s, “Poltergeists have a grip on this world, unlike lost souls. As a demon and an angel, we can’t do anything to loosen that grip. That sort of thing is entirely up to you humans.”

Crowley shrugs and slings an arm around Aziraphale’s shoulders. “Suppose it wasn’t that complicated after all.”

They fall into a comfortable silence, each taking a few minutes to browse their menus. At least, Newt and Anathema do. Crowley and Aziraphale have been to this little restaurant enough times to have the menu memorized. 

Newt fidgets with his menu, bounces his leg uncomfortably, and does a very good job of looking like he doesn’t want to be there. Eventually, he drops his menu and looks at Anathema pleadingly.

Anathema rolls her eyes and waves in Aziraphale’s direction. She glances at Crowley apologetically but doesn’t hold his eye contact.

Crowley stares at Newt, fully prepared to jump the table and do some very not nice things to him.

Aziraphale continues looking over his menu, oblivious to everything happening around him.

“Um, Mr. Fell? I’ve been wondering… uh, well, actually, we’ve been wondering but… anyway, what I wanted to ask is… well…” Anathema elbows him and he blurts, “Do angel’s really sing in choirs?”

Aziraphale stiffens. His menu creases and his hands begin to tremble. Crowley hisses, a proper hiss that starts under his tongue and squeezes from between his teeth like a warning shot. 

Newt pales and immediately starts trying to backtrack. “Or we could forget I asked! Let’s look at the menu some more!” He snatches his menu from where he dropped it and hides behind it.

Anathema watches her boyfriend struggle with barely hidden contempt. She turns back to the still frozen Aziraphale and very pissed off Crowley. “Sorry about him. He’s an idiot. You don’t have to answer if you don’t want too.”

“Good cause we’re not going to. What kind of a question is that anyway? I mean, really? Choirs? Of all the things we could tell you, that’s what you ask about?” Crowley’s voice is calm and his demeanor is nonchalant but anger radiates from him anyway. Anathema reminds herself to never properly piss him off.

Aziraphale places a hand on Crowley’s arm. Immediately, the anger disappears. He turns to his partner, his eyebrows disappearing behind his glasses, concern written across every part of his face that was visible. “Angel, are you sure? You really don’t have to talk about it.”

“It’ll be good for me, my dear. It’s been so long since I sang with my choir.” Aziraphale sounds wistful and more than a little sad. Anathema makes another reminder to yell at Newt for being nosy as soon as they get back to the cottage.

Newt peeks around his menu, having the decency to look remorseful for asking the question. He still looks to hopeful for Anathema’s liking but she doesn’t say anything. She is just as curious as her boyfriend, after all.

“Angels do sing in choirs, Newt, but not in the way humans like to think. An angel’s choir consists of a group of angels that were created from chords of the same song. We group together, shed our physical form, and sing our song.” Aziraphale’s wistfulness has turned to yearning. Crowley grips his hand, stroking his thumb over the back of Aziraphale’s knuckles like he can wipe the sad expression off the angel’s face with that action alone. “Singing with a choir is the most intimate thing angel’s can do with each other. It synchronizes our grace, uniting us in a way nothing else can. In a way, it is similar to the sexual intimacy humans experience.”

A pink flush covers Newt’s face at that addition. “So no harps or sitting on clouds?”

Aziraphale shakes his head with a weak laugh and a barely existent smile. “No, afraid not.”

He slouches back in his seat, looking more tired than Anathema has ever seen him. Crowley continues rubbing his hand. The other is still slung over Aziraphale’s shoulder and Crowley uses it to guide the angel to lean against him.

It’s a small action, hardly intimate but it makes her wonder. “Have you two sang together?”

It’s Crowley’s turn to stiffen. She can’t see his eyes behind his glasses but she somehow knows she is on the receiving end of a death stare.

Aziraphale looks affronted. “Well, that’s rather personal, isn’t it? Didn’t I just tell you singing together is very much like having sex?”

Anathema blushes when she realizes that, yes, he did just say that. And that she just asked them if they had had sex. Newt is definitely getting a talking to the moment they are away from London.

She apologizes weakly. Crowley sniffs but doesn’t respond. His glasses look a little darker than normal and his spine has never been this straight. She realizes that perhaps she should have let the conversation die like it was meant too.

Aziraphale leans a little heavier on Crowley’s shoulder. “Are you alright, darling?”

Crowley sneers, then grimaces, then mutters a low, “Demons can’t sing.”

Now Anathema really wishes a hole would just appear beneath her and suck her down.

“Choirs are only meant for angels, after all. Can’t give the demons something that good. They might forget they’re being punished.” Crowley spits, his grip on Aziraphale’s hand turning his knuckles white.

Aziraphale pats his shoulder and that seems to calm him down. He grumbles something and slouches in the chair, spreading his legs under the table, knocking his snakeskin boots against Anathema and Newt’s ankles. 

The conversation should end there. Anathema is grateful that it seems to be over. Then Aziraphale clears his throat and says, with the tone of someone telling a very mediocre story, “Since you asked, and since my husband needs a little boost, we have sung together. And it was delightful.”

Everybody at the table groans and the tension of the conversation dissipates. 

Anathema watches the spouses for the rest of their lunch. They squabble and throw quips back and forth. And they are incredibly in love. She looks out of the corner of her eye at the man sitting beside her. His hand is resting on the table, within reaching distance if she decides to take it. He’s laughing at something Crowley said, his eyes squinting shut to make room for his smile. She smiles softly and turns back to the husbands.

She catches Aziraphale watching her and blushes. He smiles at her and nods. She gets the overwhelming sense that everything will be okay, despite her doubts. Her smile grows and she nods back.

It will take time but everything will work out in the end. She has the blessing of an angel to ensure it.


	9. Chestnuts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sneaky demon isn't all that sneaky.

“Crowley, what are you doing with my nutcracker?” Aziraphale watches Crowley slink towards the exit, the aforementioned nutcracker under one arm.

Crowley gives the angel a side-eyed glance. “Cracking nuts?”

Aziraphale lifts an eyebrow. “Why do you need to take my nutcracker from the shop to crack nuts?”

It takes Crowley a moment to answer. He looks around the shop, searching for a quick lie. Eventually, he weakly tries, “I forgot the nuts at my flat?”

“Right, well, you can leave the nutcracker here and go get your nuts then come back and crack them.” Crowley deflates at the suggestion. “Or, you can tell me the real reason you’re stealing my nutcracker.”

Crowley deflates even more but he walks over to the couch and dumps the nutcracker next to it, before flopping down beside Aziraphale and groaning. He squirms around until his head is in Aziraphale’s lap. “You always do this, angel. I try to surprise you and you catch me in the act. Could you not be incredibly observant for one day, please?”

Aziraphale chuckles and he curls his fingers in Crowley’s hair. “You should be sneakier when you use my things to surprise me. Now, what it is you’re trying to surprise me with?”

Crowley mumbles curses under his breath for a moment before rolling to his side and pressing his face into Aziraphale’s stomach. He says something against the soft fabric of Aziraphale’s waistcoat, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale’s waist to smash his face harder against Aziraphale’s belly. This makes it impossible to decipher anything he says.

Aziraphale sighs and smooths his fingers through Crowley’s hair. “Darling, can you say that again? So that I can understand you, this time?”

Crowley whines and tightens his hold briefly. Then he deflates and rolls onto his back. “I was going to roast some of those chestnuts you tried when we were in China. I know you prefer them crushed.”

“Oh, darling. You’re always so thoughtful. Maybe next time, instead of sneaking around, just ask to borrow what you need?” Aziraphale chuckles and continues to play with Crowley’s hair. He clears his throat and adjusts his bowtie with his free hand, looking to the side sheepishly, “You wouldn’t happen to have any of those chestnuts with you, would you?”

Crowley laughs and snaps his fingers. A small bag appears on his stomach. He fumbles with the strings and pulls out a handful of the brown nuts. “Here you go, angel. Sorry that they aren’t crushed, but, y’know.”

Aziraphale inhales the sweet smell of the roasted nuts and pats Crowley’s head with a happy hum. “Not a problem, dear. I do have a nutcracker, after all.”


	10. Silver and Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's snowing in the South Downs.

It’s snowing in the South Downs. An angel and a demon walk by the cliffs, their fingers intertwined. A gold ring formed by two wings, the tips of their flight feathers touching, sparkles on a slim, elegant finger. On a plump, manicured finger sits a silver snake with its tail coiled under its chin. A crimson ruby glimmers in its eye.

The pair stop and look at the stars. The angel leans against the demon, resting his head of silver curls on a black clad shoulder. The demon flicks his sunflower gold eyes to the angel’s peaceful face before looking back at the stars he created. The world is silent around them and they are so full of love for each other and for the world they saved.

“Crowley, darling, ask me again?” the angel asks, breaking the silence. The world doesn’t seem to mind and the demon certainly doesn’t. He squeezes the demon’s hand a little tighter, nestles into his side a little further. 

The demon huffs fondly and smooths a thumb over the angel’s knuckles, pausing briefly on the silver ring he placed there. “Aziraphale, my love, will you be mine for the rest of our lives?”

The angel sighs happily and cups his demon’s hand with both of his own, playing with the golden wings decorating the delicate finger. “Oh, my dear, always.”

It’s snowing in the South Downs. An angel and a demon stand on the cliffs, their fingers intertwined. An angel’s gold ring glistens on the finger of a demon. A demon’s silver ring shines on the finger of an angel. They hold each other at the edge of their little world and bask in the warmth of each other’s love.


	11. Pine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Crowley can't stop pining. Neither can the pine tree.

Aziraphale can feel Crowley staring at his back. The demon has just woken from a nap on the couch and has taken to watching Aziraphale decorate the massive pine tree that has been expertly placed directly between two of the biggest bookshelves. With the fragile decorations the angel is lovingly placing on each branch, it is nearly impossible to get around the tree to browse the books there. A purely accidental side-effect, of course.

The soft rustle of fabric against fabric informs Aziraphale that Crowley is moving and he turns just in time to receive an armful of demon. He staggers slightly under the sudden weight of a body pressed against him and barely manages to miracle his armful of ornaments to a nearby table before they tumble to the ground. “My dear, are you alright?” He wraps his arms around Crowley, securing one firmly around the demon’s waist and burying a hand in his hair.

“’S cold,” Crowley mumbles into the angel’s shoulder, “You’re warm.”

Aziraphale tuts knowingly and scratches at Crowley’s scalp. “Is that the only reason you suddenly decided to attach yourself to me?”

Crowley is quiet for several moments. He turns his head, nuzzling Aziraphale’s neck. His warm breath spreads goose bumps over the angel’s skin. “Sometimes, I worry that I dreamed up everything between us and that, one day, I’ll wake up and everything will go back to how it was before the world went to shit. Before I could touch you whenever I want, hold you like this and know you’ll hold me just as tight.”

Aziraphale hums and strokes the demon’s back, putting just enough pressure behind his fingers to make Crowley arch into him. The press of his thin sternum against Aziraphale’s plump chest sends a thrill through the angel. “Oh, my love. My darling boy, you have no need to worry. I never intend to let you go, now that I’ve got you.”

“I know, but I guess…” He pauses and shuffles further into Aziraphale’s arms, pressing their bodies impossibly close. When he continues, his voice is lower than a whisper, quiet enough that Aziraphale would miss every word if it weren’t for Crowley’s mouth being right next to his ear. “I guess I’ve been pining for so long I don’t know how to stop worrying about the what ifs. The possibility that you might not love me as much as I think you do.”

Aziraphale’s heart breaks. He tightens his hold on Crowley’s waist and uses the hand in his hair to gently guide him from under Aziraphale’s chin. He searches Crowley’s face and sees worry and fear mixed with the love and adoration that is always sparkling in those reptilian eyes. He smooths a hand down Crowley’s cheek and cups his jaw, his fingertips featherlight on soft skin. “I can assure you, my love, I adore you more than you can ever imagine.”

Crowley smiles and wraps his fingers around Aziraphale’s wrist, pulling his hand up and pressing a kiss into his palm. “Love you, angel.”

Aziraphale pulls him back into a hug, kisses the spot just above his ear and whispers, “I love you too.”


	12. Caroling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snakes don't carol.

Crowley is coiled in his favorite chair. His head is buried under his coils, his tail flicking irritably every now and then. Aziraphale bustles past him, dragging a finger down one of his large coils. Crowley hisses, a grumpy, threatening sort of hiss, and coils tighter around himself.

“Crowley, please. You’re being ridiculous. It’s just a few songs. Stop acting like a child.” Aziraphale stands over the giant snake and wrings his hands harder. He glances out the window at the crowded streets of Soho. Then at the grandfather clock across the room. He starts worrying at his bottom lip. “Adam and his little friends will be here any minute, my dear. Won’t you come along, please?”

The snake heaves a sigh and uncoils. Crowley flicks his tongue at him and hisses. “Fine. But I’m not changing back.”

Aziraphale frowns. “Not changing back? Then how will you sing? Come, Crowley, that is hardly practical.”

“’M not sssinging.” Crowley slithers from the chair, wrapping around Aziraphale’s ankle and climbing up him to coil around waist, placing his head on the angel’s shoulder, “I’ll go but I refuse to do any caroling.” Despite being a snake, he manages to say the words like they personally offended him. 

Aziraphale rolls his eyes but pats Crowley’s head. “Yes, alright. But you really have a lovely voice, my dear. You should sing with us one of these years.”

Crowley flicks his tongue, tickling Aziraphale’s neck, and says, “It will never happen, sweetheart.”


End file.
